


Stay Awake

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Adopted Children, And Her Dads Are Here, Angst, Ciri has PTSD, Ciri has a nightmare, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nightmares, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: “Was it bad?” Geralt whispers.Jaskier lifts a shoulder. “Not as bad as a couple of days ago,” he replies just as quietly, “but she still looked so terrified.”Geralt hums. “I’ll speak with the apothecary tomorrow. He might have some nightshade or lavender to help her sleep through the night.”“But that’s not addressing the problem though,” Jaskier says, glancing down at her. It’s almost like nothing happened. She looks so still, sleeping soundly between them. She shuffles slightly drifting over to Geralt. The Witcher reaches out to lift some stray strands of hair out of her face. Jaskier sighs. “She’s traumatised.”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 681
Collections: Finished Fics I Love





	Stay Awake

Staying in inns and taverns and the spare rooms or barns of gracious contractors has become more and more common since Ciri arrived. What once had been such a novelty on their adventures together is now so commonplace that Jaskier is almost afraid that it’ll be taken away if he thinks anything but good things about it.

Sometimes, though, on very rare occasions, circumstances will have them sleeping outside the walls of towns, or in the clearings or forest; or once on a large, open plain of grassland. Ciri still talks about how bright the stars looked that night. But those nights are few and far between.

Jaskier has it on good authority to think that they sometimes only get rooms in inns not because of any great service that Geralt does for the town in getting rid of their pest problem, or because of Jaskier’s _brilliant_ singing and the coin he slides to the innkeep. It’s because of Ciri. Even the most hardened of grouchy men behind their bars soften at the sight of a cold and trembling girl. And Jaskier absolutely knows that the girl puts it on; he’s seen her shed a tear once when a bastard of an innkeep went to turn them away, but at the sight of a _crying poor young_ _girl_ , he promptly changed his mind.

She’s a devious little thing.

But the town they’ve wandered into was more than happy to take their coin. With only enough left over for one room, Jaskier was surprised to see that the room actually had two beds; a double and single at either side of the room. The mattress is soft, easily giving way as he settled down for the night. A lit hearth and thick, woollen blankets lull him to sleep as soon as his head touches the pillow. He doesn’t even stay awake long enough for Geralt to slip into bed with him and gather him up in his arms.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps for. When he wakes, his eyes blearily blink open, watching a fire still crackle and roar from across the room. He shuffles, and the arm coiled around his waist tightens. Peering over his shoulder, Jaskier smiles at the sight of Geralt still fast asleep, face inches from the back of Jaskier’s head. All of the usual grouchiness that normally sits on the Witcher’s face melts away during the night. Jaskier turns on to his back, watching Geralt closely. His brow is smoothened out, not a trace of a frown on it. His lips are slightly parted, letting out deep puffs of air signalling that for the first time in a long time, sleep has a firm hold of the Witcher. Jaskier smiles. He pushes some of Geralt’s hair back from his face. He’s heart clenches at the sight of the other man shuffling into the touch.

Moments where Geralt is completely at peace are few and far between. Winter and war are keen on settling over the continent together, and everyone in every town that they meet, although they don’t say it out loud, are panicking. Crops are being hauled in early in case they spoil from harsh winds and snow; or burnt from raiding soldiers. Geralt doesn’t care much about any of that. He’s weathered harsh winters. He’s seen the start and end of wars – though he would often comment drily that wars don’t ever _end_ , exactly. They just create more wars.

But he still worries. And he worries about Ciri. Jaskier looks over the man’s shoulder to the single bed at the other side of the room. Buried underneath a bundle of blankets is a girl who’s meant for something greater than all of them – and they have no idea what it even is yet.

Kaer Morhen is near. And with winter winds starting to nip at their heels, Geralt’s plan was to wait out the worst of the rain and winds and storms somewhere they’ll be safe. And they aren’t going to get safer than Kaer Morhen.

The air in the room suddenly changes. It doesn’t sit as still as it did before. Jaskier barely has time to register the change before he sees Ciri bolt upright, throwing off most of the blankets. Her chest heaves with every deep breath she takes.

Jaskier is quick to untangle himself out of Geralt’s hold. Trying not to wake the other man, he pads over to Ciri’s bed. “Hey,” he whispers, holding up his hands, “it’s alright.”

She sets her back against the headboard, breathing quickly and eyes darting around the room. Every breath that leaves her is wisp light; but she wheezes and whines. “Ciri,” Jaskier tries again. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

Unshed tears redden her eyes. When she blinks, one falls. Jaskier’s eyes soften. “Here, come stay with us,” he gentles. Taking her hand, he brings them both to the bigger bed. Ciri follows him, keeping her free hand by her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her worry the skin beside her thumbnail. A nervous habit that she has, something he’s picked up on in the weeks of knowing her. Her eyes are wide, still darting around the room – mainly over to the door. Jaskier squeezes her hand. “It’s locked,” he assures her. “No one will get in.”

Ciri looks at him blankly for a moment before nodding.

She climbs into bed first. The movement jostles the mattress slightly. Glancing over to the other side of the bed, Jaskier watches Geralt’s eyes blink open. The Witcher frowns slightly, before glancing up to the bard.

 _Nightmare_ , Jaskier mouths.

The Witcher nods simply, reaching down to grab some of the blankets and hold them up. “Get settled,” he rasps, sleep still clinging to him. Ciri falls into a space between them. Geralt moves slightly, freeing up some space, but the girl seems content to fit herself between the both of them. The bed is large, but it’s barely enough to hold the three of them. Neither of them gets too close to her, careful about her boundaries and the fact that even now, Jaskier can still feel her trembling and her heart hammering inside her chest.

Jaskier lies down, keeping a small sliver of space between him and Ciri. “We’ll be right here,” he says. It’s echoed by a hum from Geralt.

The girl has been through and seen so much in such a short space of time. Geralt was there when Cintra fell. Jaskier heard about it from fleeing refugees coming into taverns he was working in at the time. He can only imagine what the girl must have _seen_ for herself.

Her cheeks are still wet, but Jaskier watches her eyelids droop. Over her small frame, he sees Geralt. The Witcher stares at her. He has an arm curled and pillowed underneath his head. His other hand fidgets by his side. This isn’t the worst nightmare that’s attacked her. In the bad nights, where both of them wake up to her screaming, and unbridled magic creating static in the air around them, Geralt uses magic of his own to calm her. It’s not something he likes doing. But sometimes, Axii is the only thing that will ensure all of their safety. 

But she doesn’t seem to need it tonight. He does, though, reach out to gently wipe away some tears that still cling to her cheeks.

Jaskier’s chest tightens. They’ll keep her safe. Geralt made that promise to her in a forest outside of Sodden. Jaskier promised her when both she and Geralt drifted into a tavern he was working in.

And she can protect herself. Geralt makes sure that she knows how to swing a blade and loose an arrow – and use her hands if no weapon is within reach. But sometimes when dark shadows come and catch her off guard during the night, that’s when he, and Geralt, are suddenly reminded that she’s a child. She’s still so young and vulnerable.

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually, her breathing evens out, and sleep washes over her.

“Was it bad?” Geralt whispers.

Jaskier lifts a shoulder. “Not as bad as a couple of days ago,” he replies just as quietly, “but she still looked so terrified.”

Geralt hums. “I’ll speak with the apothecary tomorrow. He might have some nightshade or lavender to help her sleep through the night.”

“But that’s not addressing the problem though,” Jaskier says, glancing down at her. It’s almost like nothing happened. She looks so still, sleeping soundly between them. She shuffles slightly drifting over to Geralt. The Witcher reaches out to lift some stray strands of hair out of her face. Jaskier sighs. “She’s traumatised.”

Geralt’s eyes don’t lift from Ciri. “As is everyone else on the continent, apparently.”

Jaskier frowns, but doesn’t reply. The hearth nearby snaps as a log breaks. The room is comfortably warm, chasing away the chill of the outside. Pulling the blankets up to his chin, Jaskier curls slightly around Ciri’s side. “I’ll give you some coin for the apothecary. If she doesn’t have any nightshade or lavender, ask for passionflower. It helps with sleep.”

Geralt’s watching him. He can feel the man staring into him even with his eyes closed for the night. The moon is still perched high in the sky outside. It can’t be that close to morning. Aiming for another couple of hours of sleep, Jaskier settles with a small sigh.

An arm reaches over Ciri’s head and out for the bard. Jaskier swallows a hum at the feeling of fingers card and threading through his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com (personal nonsense and bad humour) || agoodgoddamnshot.tumblr.com (writing)


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